


Declan Harp Imagines: SFW

by robinwritesallthethings



Series: Jason Momoa Characters [7]
Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthethings/pseuds/robinwritesallthethings
Relationships: Declan Harp/Reader
Series: Jason Momoa Characters [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934317
Kudos: 6





	1. Imagine surprising Declan Harp with your ability to handle yourself in a fight.

“Ambush!” Declan growls. He doesn't look back at you, already moving forward. “Stay hidden,” he commands. 

You smile, dropping low to the ground and pulling your knife. Declan doesn't know what you can do yet. 

Flashes of red suddenly streak through the trees. British soldiers. Your favorite kind of prey. 

You wait patiently until one crosses your path. His back is to you. All of the soldiers seem to be focused on Declan. 

That's not particularly surprising, but luckily for you, it's not particularly smart, either. 

You leap onto the soldier's back and slit his throat. He doesn't even have a chance to scream. You drop back to the snowy ground and grab his gun. He hadn't shot yet, so you're able to get another in the back. 

When he falls, you drop the gun, which will take too long to reload, and stand over him, yanking him up by his hair to slit his throat too. 

“Get her!” another soldier yells.

Half of them split from Declan and turn to you. You grin, holding your knife up in front of your face and gesturing for them to come get you with your other hand. 

One soldier stabs at you with his bayonet. You grab it, not even fazed as it slices your palm. You rear up and stab him in the neck, enjoying the shocked look on his face as he dies. 

You flip the gun in your hands and stab the next man in the thigh with the bayonet. He falls to the ground and starts to bleed out immediately. 

There's only one man left. Declan is fighting him ahead of you. You grip the blade of your knife and then hurl it into the man's back, distracting him so that Declan can finish the job. 

The man falls. Declan arches an eyebrow at you, wiping his knife on the man's jacket before returning it to its sheath. You do the same, giving him a sly smile. 

“Let's take care of that hand,” he suggests.

You nod, holding it out to him and letting him wrap it for you. 

“You're not bad in a fight,” he grunts. 

You shrug. “You never asked,” you point out. 

He shakes his head and laughs. “Come on. Let's move before more of their friends show up.” 

“You assume I'd be disappointed by that,” you tease, nudging him. 

“Well. I guess we can walk a little slower than usual.” He smiles at you. “Just in case.”


	2. Imagine making weapons for Declan Harp and his men.

The camp is quiet. You're the only one awake, as far as you know. You're carefully shaping the wood you cut, split, and have been letting dry for weeks now. It's for Declan's new longbow, though he doesn't know that yet. 

You've already made several weapons for the rest of his men. Everyone has their preferences, and you know them all. There are knives, axes, hatchets. 

But this one is special. 

You check the bark you stripped from the maple before starting to shape it. It's boiling to make a healing infusion, and it's coming along nicely. 

You start to file the grooves for the bowstring, content to work, warm by the fire, listening to the sounds of the forest. 

This is the hardest part. You can do a full draw of a bow made for you, but Declan is about a foot taller and much, much stronger. 

You struggle to test the stretch of the bow and the string, even using the tiller tree you made. By the time you manage, you're sweating, and you take your fur off, setting it aside. 

It's morning when Declan returns to the camp. You've stained the bow dark so it won't be easy to see when he uses it, and you've carefully wrapped the cord around the grip. It's sitting up by the fire as you make arrows, which is always a neverending battle with how often this group shoots and never retrieves them. 

He sits down beside you and glances at the pile of weapons. “Been busy?” he grunts. 

“A little,” you tease, then nod at the bow. “That one's for you.” 

Declan tries not to look too interested as he picks it up. But as he examines the bow and then draws it back to test it, he smiles. 

“This is perfect,” he admits. “Thank you.” 

“You're welcome. The one you've been using is, well, inadequate.” 

He nods in agreement, holding out his hand for some of the arrows. “Let me help,” he offers. 

“Of course.” You hand him a quiver that's ready for fletching and he pulls out his knife to clean the feathers. “Thank you,” you add. 

“I'm the one who loses half of them,” he points out.

You laugh, then yawn in the companionable silence as you both work. Declan chuckles. “You've been up all night, haven't you?” 

You nod, covering the next yawn with the back of your hand. 

“Come here.” Declan holds out his arm for you. When you slide into his grasp, he wraps his fur around both of you and then lays down beside the fire. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs. “The arrows will still be here when you wake up.” 

You nod, lulled by his warmth and the comfortable bulk of his body against yours. 

He's a hard man to get close to, but you're willing to wait until something really happens between you.


	3. Imagine not getting along with Declan Harp, but somehow ending up with him.

“No,” Declan growls. “We can't be too cautious. We're never going to get anywhere if we play it safe.” 

You hang your head. It takes a lot for you to speak up in these meetings, but Declan never listens to you. He thinks that you're not daring enough. 

But, despite how much you fight, you're still here, and you go along with every one of his plans. 

This one, of course, doesn't go as he intended. You and Declan end up separated from the rest of the others. 

He keeps glancing at you, waiting for you to say you told him so. 

But you're not going to. You just trudge along beside him, wishing it wasn't so cold as night falls and you start to shiver. 

Declan frowns as he notices. “We're stopping,” he says gruffly. “Sit.” 

You're too numb to do anything but obey. You're surprised when he throws his fur around your shoulders before moving to start a fire. 

You pull it tight around you, glad when the flames start roaring. 

You're surprised again when Declan sits down beside you, slipping under the fur and putting his arm around you. 

You look up at him, blinking owlishly. 

“You were right,” he grunts. “I should have been more careful.” 

You shake your head slightly. “You're just doing what you think is best,” you murmur. “It can't be easy.”

You mean it, though you don't know if he'll realize that. 

“You've been trying to talk some sense into me ever since we met,” he observes. “Why are you still here? I've never listened to you, and you're not running from anyone. You don't need to hide.” 

You smile and shrug, leaning into his warmth. “I believe in what you're doing, Declan. We might disagree about methods, but not the end result.” 

“I don't want anything to happen to you,” he whispers, squeezing you tighter, his free hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

“Nothing will as long as I'm with you,” you assure him. 

He shakes his head. “People who stay with me get hurt,” he reminds you quietly. 

“Maybe. But at least I'll be happy.” 

He smiles down at you, lifting your chin, his thumb tracing over your lower lip. When he leans in to kiss you, you let him. It's unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

He keeps you warm all night, and when you set out the next morning, you know that things will only be good between you from now on.


End file.
